


Interlude

by krikkiter68



Category: Blackpool
Genre: 80s pop music, 90s Indie Music, Bondage, Explicit Sex, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-26 19:09:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3861355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krikkiter68/pseuds/krikkiter68
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Natalie leaves him, Peter Carlisle meets a kindred spirit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> One of my earliest stories, the prelude to 'Agent Provocateurs'. Hope you like it! :)
> 
> Trigger warning for emetophobia in Chapter 1.

Peter woke with a loud groan, sprawled diagonally across the vast bed in his hotel room. Even lying still, everything was heaving and flickering around him.

He raised his head and saw that the whole place was spotless. 'I've tidied up', he thought, 'Things must be bad.' He glanced over to the drinks cabinet, and saw a single, empty bottle of malt whisky, next to a half-empty whisky glass standing on the shining mahogany surface, and groaned again. He'd been drinking to forget, but it was all coming back to him. He saw Natalie walking away from him, leaving him all alone in the pavilion, saw himself getting smaller and smaller as she walked into the distance.

He rolled himself into a ball, clutching his aching stomach. She'd gone back to that ape, he thought furiously, that lying, bullying, cheating, bigoted, scumbag loser. He suddenly saw Ripley sneering at him, with his big, clumsy, ignorant hands on Natalie's lissom, poetic body...

A dark, rolling wave of nausea engulfed him at that thought, and he stumbled from the bed, staggered into the bathroom and vomited noisily into the toilet.

As the tremors subsided, he rinsed his mouth, then stared at his reflection in the mirror. His big, dark eyes were as forlorn and reddened as a bloodhound's, and underlined with vicious dark circles. He looked as if he hadn't shaved for a month. 'Like a Kafka hero, without the heroism', he thought.

He staggered back into the room and slumped into the leather armchair, then put his head in his hands and started sobbing.

 

'But it's our anniversary!' Lara shouted down her mobile.

'I know, I know', said Tony's voice at the other end. 'The thing is, it's Annabel's birthday, and she's been dumped again...'

'But she's your ex-girlfriend!' Lara shouted.

'Look', said Tony, in his infuriating 'reasonable' voice, 'it's not like the two of us shouldn't be friends. You know how I feel about jealousy...'

'Friends?! You don't even like her! You're always complaining about how awful she was...'

'I thought I'd invite her friends for her night out', Tony continued, 'You're not invited, by the way...'

Tony, thought Lara, as he babbled on. Popular, handsome, outgoing, charming (or 'shallow', as her mum put it). The perfect guest for any party. Such a great talker, and such a terrible listener.

'...the thing is, Lara, I love you but I'm not in love with you...'

'What?' she thought.

'...I don't know, I think I need a bit of space...'

Lara swallowed hard, and summoned up all her courage.

'So you and her...have you...?'

'Yes. I believe in honesty, and...'

Lara wailed.

'Look, I never said...I never said I actually loved you, right?'

'But I thought this meant something...' 

'OK. You're obviously a bit overwrought. I'll call you back when you're feeling less emotional. I think it's for the best if we have a break from each other, yeah?' And the phone went dead.

Seconds later, her mobile was lying on the floor, and the tears started cascading down her face.

 

Peter wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and stripped off his day-old clothes before showering. 'I've got two choices now', he thought, standing with a resolute, haggard calm beneath the steaming water, 'either stay here marinading myself in whisky for another night, or have a night out.' He had a bit of leave from the Mike Hooley case, after all. Though what he really wanted to do was to go back to the mountains, work in a shop, go home to darkness, fresh air, peace.

He shaved, carefully, trying not to nick himself as usual, then dressed in his borrowed tuxedo. After he'd done up his bow tie (third attempt, not bad, he thought), he threw a James Bond pose in the mirror. 'OK', he thought, 'It's a bit pouty. But no-one's here to see it.'

He hesitated on where to go, before deciding on the ballroom. There was no chance that Natalie would be there. She was with Ripley now, in that clinical, nouveau-riche mansion, forever.

 

Lara angrily pulled down the hem of her skirt. It was, after all, her custom to get dressed up and go out after a break up. I'm attractive, she told herself, as she applied thick, waterproof mascara to her lashes. She slicked on thick, red lipgloss to her lips, and stood back to admire her handiwork. 'I'm beautiful', she told the mirror. Her hair fell in shining black ringlets past her shoulders, her full bust looked enticing in her black velvet corset top, her (rather fuller, to her mind) thighs were concealed beneath her emerald and purple mesh skirt, and she'd enhanced her normal height with high heeled silver sandals. Well, she was the least vain woman alive, but even she had to admit she looked great. Not fashionably thin, like Annabel, but even so...

'I'll show him', she thought, as she applied the blusher. 'So, he thinks he can cheat on me with someone he doesn't even like? Two can play that game...'

Just before leaving her flat, she went to her stereo and selected from the CD in her collection, and played the title track from 'The Queen Is Dead' by The Smiths. 'Student music', Tony would probably say. She lost herself in the keening cadences of Morrissey's voice, and sang along, at least one octave higher. 'It's OK', she thought, 'No one's here to hear it.'


	2. Chapter 2

Peter sat on a velvet-backed chair at the back of the ballroom, nursing a watered-down whisky between his palms. He dispassionately surveyed the heavy gold swags of the curtains, the cool marble columns, the blue flickering lights at the bar, and took a small swig. 'I won't be here much longer', he thought, 'going home, soon.' The liquid burned a small, unwelcome trail to his stomach, and he shuddered.

Lara stood uncertainly at the ornate mahogany door. This was the sort of place that Tony would dismiss out of hand as a complete waste of money, she thought, remembering how she was usually the one who ended up paying for both of them. But this time, it was going to be different. She was paying for this, she thought, striding past the doorman, this was going to be her evening.

Peter placed his drink on the table with a sigh. Hair of the dog was all very well, but he was feeling light headed already. He observed the crowd, all couples, as far as he could tell. But then that last figure...a lone woman, long black curly hair, great, curvy figure, her clothes dark, almost punky. She swam against a sea of identikit slim blondes in pale, tailored dresses. She looked interesting, and alone.

Lara leant against the cool wood of the bar and was suddenly aware of a presence next to her. She turned, her eyes meeting a downcast face.

'Hi, can I help you?'

The stranger smiled, sardonically.

'That rather depends, doesn't it?'

A beautiful accent, from way, way up North.

'You're Scottish,' she said, and immediately felt stupid.

The stranger smiled. 'And you're not from Blackpool, are you?' he said. 'That's a London accent.'

'That's a very good guess,' she said, not wanting to explain to him the curly sequence of events that had caused her to move. She took a sip of wine. 'Are you a detective, then?'

All at once he looked so, so tired, and she felt bad for questioning him.

'I used to be,' he said. 'But don't worry, I'm off duty. What can I get you?'

After a couple of white wines, Lara started opening up to him.

'And it was supposed to be our anniversary. And it turned out he was with her all along.'

He took a sip of whisky. 

'You'll find someone else,' he said, uncertainly, like a man walking across an icy pond.

'I won't,' she said, despairing, 'he's sucked the life out of me. I'll never get over it.'

'You will. It'll just take time...'

'What the hell do you know about it?' she snarled, her anger and frustration boiling over. 'You're a man. These things mean nothing to you.'

He raised her eyes to hers, and she almost gasped to see the raw, aching hurt in them.

'That's not always true,' he said, in a near-whisper.

She was touched. 'What happened?' she said.

His eyes were huge and wistful in the near-darkness. 

'I'm in love,' he said, sadly.

'Right,' she said, sipping her wine. 'And...'

'She's with a guy who doesn't deserve her.'

She snorted. 'That's funny.' 

He glanced at her. 

'I'm with a guy who thinks he's too good for me.'

His eyebrows shot up. 'Really? His eyes need testing.'

The strains of 'Careless Whisper' started up. Their eyes met. Lara smiled. She'd always liked this song, remembering how Tony dismissed it as 'a cheesy guilty pleasure'. Peter smiled back at her.

'I love this song,' she said.

'Me too,' he said, 'George has a great voice.'

'Would you like a drink?'

He laid a hand on her arm. 'I wouldn't hear of it. They're on me.'

They continued to talk into the night, about their work (he omitted the murder case, she omitted the office politics surrounding the drinks machine), their tastes in music, their hopes for future holidays, and grew to like each other more and more. It was late, and she was leaning in to listen to him, her mouth inches away from his cheek.

The room darkened, lights swirled, and the opening twanging chords of 'Wicked Game' by Chris Isaak filled the air. He stood, and extended a hand towards her.

'Dance?'

'Why not?'

He led her to the middle of the dancefloor, and she shivered as his hands slid down her back. She clasped his slender waist as he led her gently, holding her close to him. She laid her head against his breastbone as they danced and she could hear the steady thump of his heart. She felt his fingers playing across the satin ribbons at the back of her corset top, an action so reassuring, yet so intimate, it made her breathless.

She raised her head to look at his face. He was staring, lost, into the middle distance, but all at once he looked back at her and smiled tenderly. 'I'm glad you're here,' he seemed to say, 'let's enjoy this.'

She felt him stroking her back, something Tony had never bothered to do. She arched, like a cat stretching in the sun, and was rewarded by a breathy sigh against her cheek. 'Don't know about you,' he murmured in her ear, 'but I fancy some fresh air.'

They walked to the exit, holding hands.


	3. Chapter 3

Lara swore later she had no idea how it happened. One second, they were standing against the rail overlooking the beach, holding hands and gazing at the full moon reflected in a shimmering sheet across the still waters of the Irish Sea. The next, they were kissing each other frantically, their hands plunging into each other's hair and snaking over their bodies.

'Wait...' gasped Lara, breaking away.

'Yeah?' He leant back, breathing hard.

'Your place?' she asked, remembering the shocking state of her flat.

'Yeah. I've got a place. Not far. Let's get over there,' he said in her ear, 'right now.'

He hailed a cab and they piled into the back seats. 

'Metropole, please', he said, then kissed her again, pushing her down onto the black leather. She ran her hands through his thick, silky hair as he bent to lick and nibble her neck. Lying almost full length on top of her he ground his hips against her thigh, and she was thrilled to feel how very, very hard he was. She raked her long nails down his back and he moaned into her mouth.

The cab had stopped.

'I 'ate to interrupt', said the driver, 'but we've arrived at your pleasure palace.'

'Oh. Right. Sorry,' said Peter, reaching into his pocket for a twenty pound note. He helped Lara out of the taxi.

'This way, milady.'

'Thenk you, Parker', she said in her best Lady Penelope voice.

He grinned, and, steering her, pressed her back against a nearby lamp post and kissed her again. 'You can call me any name you fucking want,' he murmured.

'Dirty bastards', muttered the driver, leaning over to slam the cab door.

They both giggled. 

'Come on', he said, taking her hand and practically running up the marble steps of the hotel.

The lift door whooshed and closed behind them. He dropped abruptly to his knees in front of her and ducked under her skirt. A second later his face reappeared, grinning as if all his birthdays and Christmases had come at once.

'You're not wearing any...and all that time in the bar you were...oh, my God...' He kissed her all the way up her inner thigh and she groaned with pleasure.

'What you're doing to me...' He looked up at her, his eyes dark and intense. 'How can I ever repay you?'

She cried out and gripped his shoulders as his tongue found her clit and started circling. He started licking her frantically, as if feasting on her, as if he were starving. Judging by the muffled sighs and moans he made, he was enjoying it as much as she was, and she gasped as he slid two long fingers inside her and stroked her hard and fast. He broke away and kissed her curls, swirling her aching nub with his thumb.

'God, you're incredible', he murmured. 'So beautiful. Come for me Lara...ahhhh, that's right', he whispered as she started bucking against his hand, 'Please. I want to watch you come apart.' And he ravished her once more with his tongue.

Right on the brink, she looked down into his huge, shining eyes, and she jolted as he pushed another finger inside her. She cried out as she convulsed around his hand, stars exploding behind her eyelids, practically collapsing on top of him. 

He stood up and gently supported her with his free arm, holding her close, then pressed the button for the top floor. He eased his fingers from her body and then, with a smile so filthy it was probably illegal, he placed his moistened fingers in his mouth and sucked them.

The lift doors swung open.

'I hope you're up for another round', he whispered in her ear as they unsteadily negotiated the corridors, 'because if I don't fuck you in the next two minutes I'm gonna go insane.'

'I'm pleased to hear it', she whispered back.

He unlocked the door to his room, then, once they were in, clasped her to him, frantically kissing her mouth, her neck, her face and trying to untie the ribbons at the back of her corset top.

'No, the front, the front', she gasped, unhooking herself. Her beautiful full breasts were exposed and a tiny noise escaped from the back of his throat as he stared at them. Then he started undressing furiously, and his tuxedo joined her skirt and top on the carpet.

She threw herself back on the bed and he positioned himself over her. They both groaned as he slid inside, and she gasped as he filled her completely, stretched her, so big and so, so good...

She felt him tremble, poised over her and propped up on his hands. She crossed her feet behind the small of his back and he gasped.

'I should warn you...' he said in a strained voice...'oh, you minx...' he continued as she rolled her hips, 'this may not last very long.'

He started to thrust, hard and deep, hissing as she gripped his buttocks. He worked a hand between them and stroked her again, and minutes later she climaxed hard, fluttering against his straining cock again and again. Seconds later, standing somewhere outside herself, she heard him yell and felt him pulse inside her.

He collapsed on top of her with a heavy sigh, and she held him close.

Her heart was thumping, and she stroked his hair. He looked up at her tiredly, and smiled at her.

'Nice end to the evening, wouldn't you say?'

'Perfect end to the day', she agreed, smiling right back at him.

He kissed a line down to her breasts. 'Hello', he said to them. 'Sorry for neglecting you. I'll make it up to you.'

She giggled, and stroked his hair. The light was dim, and it had been such a long, strange day. She heard his breathing getting slower and softer, and she lay back into the comfort of the pillows. There was hardly a sound outside, except for the crack of a car door and laughter, and the sound of a car stereo, with the faint, haunting melodies of 'The Killing Moon' by Echo and the Bunnymen filling the air.

Perfect, she thought, as she drifted off to sleep with her handsome, slightly crazy stranger in her arms. Just perfect.


	4. Chapter 4

Lara woke with a start, briefly panicking before remembering the events of the previous night. Peter had rolled over onto his side, hugging most of the duvet against him, leaving her in the cold. She carefully pulled at an edge of duvet in front of her until she had covered herself up.

She lay in bed, staring up at the ornate golden flowers on the ceiling. She felt a pleasant ache between her legs, and thought of waking Peter, but he was so deeply asleep it didn't seem fair to wake him.

The strains of 'Unfinished Sympathy' by Massive Attack floated over from a nearby nightclub, and Shara Nelson's beautiful, yearning vocals and the achingly sad lyrics made her tearful. She suddenly remembered a row with Tony, when he had said the song was 'miserable, pretentious indie shit.' She felt a sudden stab of hatred for Tony. Not only had he cheated on her, she thought, furiously, he hated music too! 'I've wasted two years on a man without a soul', she thought, and started crying.

Peter rolled over and curled an arm around her. 

'What's wrong?' he murmured.

'Bastard boyfriend', she whispered back.

'Shhhh', he said, cuddling her. 'Don't waste your tears on him', he said quietly. 'He's not worth them. I should know, I'm a bloke. And besides', he said, smiling, 'I bet he never did this...'

He started kneading and stroking her breasts, licking and kissing her nipples as if he were devouring them. 'I bet', he said, between kisses, ' he never made you come just by doing this...'

'That's not possible', she gasped, though the arousal surging through her suggested it was very possible indeed.

He chuckled. 'Is that a bet? OK, I like a challenge...'

He went back to licking, sucking and kneading her breasts, his tongue snaking over each in turn.

'Oh God', he murmured between licks, 'You have the most incredible tits, I could just come all over them, right now.'

She moaned, crossing and uncrossing her legs, feeling the fire rising in her, slickness covering her inner thighs. 'Don't stop,' she cried, 'for God's sake don't stop.'

He murmured into her breasts and slowly, slowly slid a hand down her belly towards her mound, his fingers just grazing her curls. He rotated his fingertips in tiny circles, inches from where she desperately wanted them. 

'Do you want this?' he asked before stroking and gently biting her nipples. 'Tell me you want this, Lara. Tell me you want to tie me up and ride me, tell me you want me to take you roughly from behind, that you want to sit on my face and suck me off while I lick your gorgeous pussy, until you come in my mouth...’

'Oh God, please!' she shouted.

And he slid two warm fingertips against her clit and she came explosively, ramming her face into the pillow and screaming.

He held her as her body calmed, then kissed her.

'I'll take that as a yes, then.' She smiled at him. It was her turn.

She rolled him over onto his back, then bent right over to search under the bed, earning an appreciative whistle from him. She found the belt from his dressing gown, and sat up on her haunches on the bed, stretching it and grinning wickedly, before binding his wrists to the headboard. He gazed at her, wide-eyed, and gasped as she closed her hand around his hard, throbbing length.

'What do you want, Peter?' she said huskily, stroking him.

'Oh God, your hand...'

She kissed him lightly all the way up his cock.

'Your mouth...'

She continued kissing him and cradled his balls, stroking them gently, and he hissed.

'You. I want you.'

She looked up at him and took him into her mouth. He groaned loudly, his hips lifting off the bed, as she licked and stroked him. She felt his whole body trembling, and she gripped him around the thick base of his cock, kissing the velvet head again and again.

'What do you want, Peter?' she asked him again.

'Fuck me! Oh, God! Lara, fuck me!'

Lara smiled. Twelve hours ago she had been sitting on the floor of her flat, crying over a boyfriend, and now she was sitting in front of a gorgeous, naked, very hard man who was tied to the headboard of a prestigious hotel bed and begging her to ravish him. My life's looking up, she thought.

She scooted up the bed and positioned herself over him, then took hold of him and guided him in. She gasped as she sank down; wet as she was, it was almost too much for her. His head was thrown back on the pillows, his mouth opening and closing as if silently praying. Then, gently placing a palm against his abdomen, she started to move, and he practically yelped as she slid against him. He was very, very close, she realised, and she leant forward to free his wrists. He sat up immediately and thrust up hard inside her, gripping her right hip hard with one hand and frantically stroking both her clit and the base of his cock with the other, his gaze fixed between her legs. Seconds later, she was coming hard and fast around him, and then, with a thrust that nearly dismounted her, he climaxed, biting into a pillow and moaning with ecstasy.

She rested over him, balancing on her hands, sated, both of them panting hard. Then they exchanged a look and started giggling incredulously. She rested her head against his hairy, finely-muscled chest. He stroked her lustrous hair and kissed its glossy waves. 'Lovely hair,' he murmured. 'You're lovely.' He kissed her. 'How can I repay you?'

'Can we have a bath?'

'Of course. Not that you need one,' he added, hastily, 'but it's a different story for me.' He lifted an arm and sniffed. 'Ergh. Yes, I definitely need one. Wait here a moment.'

She lay back contentedly for a few minutes, then he stuck his ruffled head round the bathroom door and grinned. 'Ready!'

The bath was incredible, she thought, free-standing and big enough for four people. It was full of bubbles, and the divine scent of jasmine, vanilla and lavender hit her in scented waves. She almost sighed with pleasure as he took her hands and guided her in. He stepped in after her, resting his head against the taps.

'Oh! And I nearly forgot...' He reached behind him and handed her a full glass of champagne. She boggled. 'Well, don't look so surprised,' he said, smiling, 'it's the best hotel in Blackpool.'

'I'm beginning to see Blackpool in a whole new light,' she said.

He reached behind him and claimed his own glass.

'Yeah, me too,' he said, softly. 'Cheers.'

They clinked glasses.

They were both tired, and their movements were languorous and sensual, their kisses soft, rather than feral. They took turns washing each other with the foam, and at one point he turned her around and washed her hair, and she almost wept at the gentle consideration he showed her. Eventually she turned to him again, mounted him once more and they made love, slowly and quietly this time. They came together, their cries lost in a deep kiss.

Afterwards, they dried each other off, lay down on the bed, and, holding each other, drifted off to sleep straight away.

A few hours later, the alarm sounded, and she woke. 'Peter...?'

'I'm here.' He spooned up behind her. 'It's OK, I just like to set the alarm annoyingly early.' She looked at the red clockface display: 07:00. 

'What time do you start work?'

'Nine o' clock.'

She rolled over and groaned. 'That's good, though,' he said, kissing her neck, 'we haven't tried the shower, yet.'

The shower was, she thought, looking around wonderingly, a work of art, big enough for six people and beautifully tiled in green, blue and gold, with a bewildering number of taps. She liked it.

'I know a good one', Peter murmured, and then two jets of water spurted diagonally, tingling against her skin. She gasped as he turned on tap after tap, gradually getting drenched. Jets gushed across her nipples, her stomach, her...oh, good Lord...

'Is it psychosomatic?' she moaned.

'If you want,' he murmured.

He reached behind him to the dispenser and spread lavender-scented shower gel over his hands, then gently laved her all over. She could feel his huge, hard cock pressing against her, and desperately wanted him.

She turned around, placing her hands against the tiles. 'Take me, Peter', she moaned.

She heard him gasp, then felt him grasp her hips and thrust inside her, and she yelled as he filled her. 'Faster', she shouted, and he obeyed, speeding up, pulling her legs apart and stroking her clit. She bucked wildly against him, as he began to talk to her.

'God, Lara...you're amazing...has anyone ever fucked you this hard? This deep? Made you feel this alive?'

'Never...' she moaned.

He placed a hand against the small of her back, and pushed her down further, and she cried out, clamping around him.

'Oh God!' she heard him shout, as his cock erupted inside her. 'Oh, God! Oh, God!'

He gathered her into his arms, as he heaved and panted. Then, he gently washed her all over again with the silky gel, before carefully rinsing her.

'Oh, and one more thing...' he started.

'What?'

'Well, we've still got an hour and a half to go, and it would be rude of me not to give you a parting gift...'

And he knelt down in front of her, spread her legs and proceeded to show her once more how very, very excellent he was at the act Tony had always refused to perform on her.


	5. Chapter 5

Half an hour later, they were sitting together in a warm, cosy cafe, tucking into two full English breakfasts. She wore a green, faded jumper of his, which he'd insisted she wore to avoid getting cold. She watched him devour his food, eagerly folding fried bread under his fork and dipping it into runny egg and sighing with each mouthful. She smiled. He was clearly ravenous, and she wasn't surprised. He raised an eyebrow at her, and smiled back.

'How's yours?' he asked.

'Lovely, thanks.' She sighed contentedly and sat back.

'You're not eating?' he said.

'It's lovely, but I'm full now.' And besides, she was enjoying watching him eat a bit too much.

'You can't stop now,' he said in a mock-pleading voice, 'we haven't had dessert yet.'

'God!' she laughed. 'I'll blow up like a whale if I do!'

'You won't,' he said, laying a hand across hers. 'You are absolutely nothing like a whale.'

The waitress came over and placed a sweet-smelling honey-brown slab of lusciousness in front of Peter.

'Ah!' he said with boyish glee, 'Pudding! Mmmm, banoffee pie...' He dug a spoon into its depths, brought a mouthful to his lips, then licked slowly around the bowl of the spoon with his wonderful long tongue, letting out a small moan as he savoured it.

Lara gulped. 'Keep doing that,' she said quietly, 'and I'll have to drag you back to the hotel.'

He beamed, looking delighted with himself, delighted with her, delighted with life.

'Try some,' he said, digging out a tiny mound of banana toffee and rolling the spoon under it, before bringing it up to her lips.

She tasted it, and gasped. 'That's gorgeous,' she said, 'better than a cup cake any day.'

They were quiet, as he alternated between eating the delicious pie and feeding her, and she felt warmly contented. It was a perfect conclusion, she thought.

When they had finished he took both her hands, stroking her palms with his thumbs. 'Lara,' he began. 'Thank you. And, you know, if things were different...'

He sounded shaky and guilty, and she cut him off.

'Peter. It's OK. Really, it's OK. We've had a great time, but she's the one you love. Go and find her.' He smiled gratefully.

'And you? What will you do, Lara?'

'I don't know. Actually, I do. I'll go and find a life for myself.'

'Can't argue with that.' He drained his coffee cup. 'Thanks for last night.'

'It was my pleasure.'

They stood and kissed each other, not caring who saw them.

'Au revoir,' he said, sounding a bit sad.

'I'll send your jumper back to the station, shall I?'

'Keep it,' he said, smiling.

He watched her walk out through the door, then tried to see her through the window. And then he caught sight of DCI Blythe, standing just outside, staring at him with withering contempt before turning on his heel and walking away.

Lara stood in her flat, surveying its trashed state. She knew what she had to do, now. Hours ago, she was weeping on the floor, and now, with the aid of one amazing stranger, everything seemed possible.

Her landline rang, and she answered it.

'Lara!' Tony shouted down the phone. 'It's me! Where on earth have you been?'

'Out,' she said, feeling bored and irritated by his voice.

'Look, I've thought it over,' he said. 'Annabel's not really ‘the one’. I've thought it through, and I've realised ‘the one’ is you.'

'Yeah?' she said. 'Too little, too late. I've decided to move back to London.'

'But Lara, I love you! You can't do this to me!' wailed Tony down the receiver.

I've chipped my nail varnish, she thought absently, that was careless of me.

'But we should really take this to the next level, yeah?' Tony was saying. 'Lara, will you marry me? Hello? Hello? Hello?'

She gently replaced the receiver, grinned, and continued to pack.

Thank you, Peter, she thought.

Peter sat alone in the cafe, listlessly heaping sugar into another cup of coffee. Oh well, he thought, back to reality. To contemptible Ripley, odious Allbright, lost Danny, dull Blythe...great, he thought, with a sigh.

Someone jangled a coin in the jukebox and his face lit up as the opening chords to '(I'm Gonna Be) 500 Miles' by The Proclaimers rang out. He mouthed the words and tapped his cup with his teaspoon. He felt a pang of real, friendly affection for Lara, that marvellous woman who had brought him back to life. He'd find Natalie, he thought, find her and ask her to come away with him.

He walked out into the cold, and headed up to the Samaritans branch. Several minutes later, the love of his life walked out of the doors, walked straight past him.

'Natalie!' he called out, hurrying after her. 'Wait...'

THE END


End file.
